My next door neighbour recently asked me when I’d hang my boots, that is, wave goodbye to the game and perhaps consider settling down with a beautiful bird I love, as over the years, he’s met a number of birds coming and going into my house and life.
The question struck me deeply, but having been under the influence of at least two criminalised substances, I gave him a banal excuse.
Later, I gave the question some keen thought and came to two conclusions for his question—I’d retire if:
- At least two women fought for me in the stairwells, in a chaotic drama that would hopefully include the pulling of hair, the exchange of slurs, and the eventual intervention of professional security personnel.
- One of my lovers keyed my gorgeous Adhis for any reason whatsoever.
I then reflected on these conclusions and wondered why I’d settle on such narcissistic outcomes.
After much rumination, I found that the two wantings were because in my pursuits of fleshly indulgence, the dramatic, vicious gal is the type that I hadn’t yet encountered. For some reason, I haven’t attracted this type of woman.
I suppose, after all the soft girls and safe flings, what I’ve never truly experienced is the full-on, histrionic madness; the woman whose love is like a turbulent storm. I crave that final boss.
As someone committed to the game, I considered my wantings noble.
